Pokémon PMD: Bad Duck [Interactive]

[kyeugh]

You sold counterfeit vegetables to the young children of the village, you monster

well the field on fire was kinda drab so you set tinfoil wrapped popcorn bombs with the second one to liven it up...

Wasnt your fault society didnt appreciate your mass holiday outdoor cooking event.

Impersonating an officer of the law to get a better deal on counterfeit vegetables (toy vegetables). It was a sting operation.

The funds were gonna buy enough corn for a third mass holiday outdoor cooking event.

You also needed some tinder to get the fire for the tinfoil wrapped popcorn bombs going (all that corn don't burn itself...), so in perfect prankster style, you decided to do this generation a favour and spare them the horrors of all your school's advanced linear prealgebra textbooks! Way to kill two b... err.... nevermind.

Also you wrote mean poems and stuck them in random mailboxes. For fun. As a treat.

Yeah, this is gonna be a fucking toughie. You take a deep breath, muster every molecule of willpower you have, and release. Alright.

"So."

It takes the better part of a quarter hour to recount your antics. In the moment, it hadn't seemed like all that much—one thing had left to another, and suddenly you were impersonating a guard to sell children contraband more efficiently so that you could make bigger popcorn explosions and... Yeah, alright, you kind of get why they put you in jail now. You should really think these things through more.

All the while you're flinching after each confession, waiting for your mother to finally react, to pull out her soup spoon and wallop you or something—but she doesn't. She just watches you silently and with wide eyes, and the tension is almost worse than any actual reaction she could dole out. You're almost desperate for her to do something, anything.

When your tale finally comes to a close, she stirs at last. You recoil instinctively, but it's not a drastic motion she makes. She just leans back a little on her stool, pinches the bridge of her beak, and lets out an almighty sigh.

"Eschalotte," she says. "My sweet chick. My precious child."

It's the most devastating thing she could have said to you, really.

"You are a blasted fucking idiot."

... Yeah, you had that coming.

"Do you understand how hard you've made things, not just for yourself but for me? I'm not sure you do. Because if you did, it would mean you're doing these things in spite of the way it hurts me—hurts us. And I like to think you love me too much to do something like that."

Your heart sinks through the fucking floor.

"I am a chef. A damn good one, too. People from across the world flocked to this restaurant, once, just for a taste of my work. It's midday on a Saturday, Esher, and the only mon haunting this place now are myself and my ne'er-do-well daughter. Why do you think that is? I can't blame it squarely on you. The world is changing in many ways, and change has a way of making business rough. But things being difficult as they are, surely you understand that you—your actions, your disregard—have not helped matters one bit. The daughter of a once-great chef, arrested for selling plastic food to children. What kind of image do you think that presents? How do you think that reflects on me? Did you even think about it at all?"

The answer is no, of course you didn't. You were just getting your kicks in however you could. But seeing your mother like this, eyes ringed with red, once-bustling pride-and-joy restaurant ghost-dead, the guilt you've been pushing off for all these years hits you like a rhydon all at once. You feel like you might throw up.

"I'm sorry, Mom," you croak out. And she looks at you again with those eyes, that gaze so disappointed it might as well be flaying you, crucifying you.

"I love you, my chick," she coos softly. "I always will. But things have progressed to the point where my own feelings on the matter don't count for much anymore. I've protected you all this time with all I have. And now I have nothing left." There are tears welling in her eyes. "I warned you this day would come. Many times I warned you—so did the warden, so did the elder. But you didn't listen. And now it has arrived."

Your wings are shaking with dread. "What do you mean?"

"Did you wonder why I picked you up out of jail before your sentence? I've never done that before." You hadn't thought about that, actually—you'd assumed she was just that mad. But she raises a worthy point. "The elder has summoned you to tribunal. Your fate will be decided on the platform tomorrow. I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do."

And then, as if she can bear to behold you no longer, she rises from her seat and waddles to the kitchen, her back to you.

For all the irony in the world, she's chopping onions.

- - -
​

End of prologue​

 

[kyeugh]

You awake on the day of your trial with a stone in your stomach. Both metaphorically, in the sense that you are freaked the fuck out, and literally, in the sense that your tummy was upset last night and, being a primitive fowl, you had to swallow a big rock to help grind up your food. And the mammals have the gall to complain about taking pills and gummis. What a bunch of fucking whiners.

You step outside into the warm spring air and breathe deeply of it—the scent of smoke from the village's bonfires and the aromas of honeysuckle and garden herbs comfort you. The city's center, a massive earthwork platform built thousands of years ago by the village's founders—and one of many such structures in this part of the world—looms over you menacingly, like a great judgmental mountain. Actually, you guess that's exactly what it is.

Blessedly, you have a couple hours to kill before the worst moment of your life, so you might as well do something to lift your spirits a little. You could go down into town and chat with the shopkeeps—maybe it's your last chance. Your teacher, Master Tibius, is probably down there somewhere hocking his wares if you wanted to say hi. You could even pick up a snack and shoot the shit with the other teenagers. Or you could take a hike to the waterfall to clear your mind. There's always something neat to see out there.

Or you could do something else. If there was ever a time to get creative, now would be it.

 

[Meridian]

> Esher: check what you've got on you
> Esher: consider if there's any coolkids you'd want to bring to the waterfall to possibly say your goodbyes to
> Esher: consider if there's an apology to give to Master Tibius when you pass him by

 

[Bluwiikoon]

Maybe there's time to write a (very) short memoir and/or will while chilling at the waterfall! Y'know, presuming you have some ink and paper laying around.
Either way, it is probably a good chance to reflect on things.

 

[K_S]

I vote host one last harrah at the waterfal, prioritize fire type guests because why not. (I mean if we are getting exiled lets hoop it up one more time)

 

[ErazonPo3]

You consider how far you could make it out of town if you just high-tailed it and ran now. You've slipped past guards before... but they always get you eventually. But in this case, maybe they might let you leave, if they thought you'd never be coming back.

 

[Bluwiikoon]

Oh, wait! Are the Celebi shrine and/or Dad's burial site somewhere in the town, or close enough to feasibly visit?
If so, it may be good to drop by. Y'know, while you still can.

 

[kyeugh]

> Esher: check what you've got on you
> Esher: consider if there's any coolkids you'd want to bring to the waterfall to possibly say your goodbyes to
> Esher: consider if there's an apology to give to Master Tibius when you pass him by

You consider how far you could make it out of town if you just high-tailed it and ran now. You've slipped past guards before... but they always get you eventually. But in this case, maybe they might let you leave, if they thought you'd never be coming back.

Much to consider. The thought of dashing town crosses your mind—why wait around for the inevitable when you could get a head start? But you don’t want to disgrace your mother’s name any further by failing to show for your trial. Besides, this could be the last time you have in this town, the only place you’ve ever known. You’d never forgive yourself if you squandered it. Plus, if they do exile you, they’ll probably give you some survival supplies—wouldn’t want to miss those. You’ve only got a leek to your name, for now.

There are people you’d like to talk to, at any rate. At the very least, you’d like to see Master Tibius one last time. Growing up without a dad, the old coot taught you most everything you know that isn’t related to cooking and avian hygiene. It’s going to be hard to meet his eyes, but it’s something you need to do for your own peace of mind.

It wouldn’t hurt to say bye to the lads either.

Oh, wait! Are the Celebi shrine and/or Dad's burial site somewhere in the town, or close enough to feasibly visit?
If so, it may be good to drop by. Y'know, while you still can.

Most importantly of all, though, you’d like to visit your dad. You don’t remember much about the old duck, but you’ve heard on no rare occasion that he was a devout worshipper of Celebi—he’d built the forest shrine in the town square, and he’d kept it spotless. It’s kind of like his ghost now—its disrepair hants you. It could do with one last tidying-up while you can. Something tells you no one will be doing it in your stead once you leave. And it’d be good to visit the old man’s grave, too. You might not have known him well, but his tombstone was the one friend you had that you could always depend on to listen. He’d want to hear about what’s going on now, too, and you owe him a goodbye.

Plan in mind, you head on down the path towards town, trusty leek in hand. You receive no shortage of nasty or pitiful looks—you try not to let them beat your spirit down. There will be plenty of time for moping and feeling self-sorry later. And oh, you will make good use of that time, make no mistake.

Sure ’nuff, the boys are waiting for you in town square, bumming around by the fountain as usual.

“HEY ESHER COME SMOKE WEED WITH US,” One-eye Perry shouts at you. He’s missing one eye and one eye only, but tends to shout like he’s hard of hearing. No one knows why. You love him for this. Pot Monkey is sitting on the edge of the fountain—he just lifts his chin at you in greeting, and you return the gesture. God Pot Monkey is cool as fuck. But do you really have time for this?

 

[tomatorade]

The only way to impress Pot Monkey is to do a backflip. I am your intrusive thoughts and you will regret this moment forever if you don't do a backflip right now.

 

[kyeugh]

The only way to impress Pot Monkey is to do a backflip. I am your intrusive thoughts and you will regret this moment forever if you don't do a backflip right now.

“Hey guys, check this out,” you say without answering One-eye Perry’s question. The dope can wait a second. It is strictly necessary for you to do a sick backflip right now. You leap into the air and your wings become a flurry as you do a cool swoop. You land back on your feet gingerly with a pant, chest puffed out proudly. “Pretty sick, right?”

Pot Monkey looks at you with an unreadable expression for a few seconds, then shrugs and hits his joint.

God he is so fucking cool.

”Anyway,” you add, “I might be getting exiled in a couple hours, so I guess I just wanted to say my goodbyes. You know, in case we don’t meet again.”

“OH DON’T WORRY!” One-eye Perry shouts. “WE WOULDN’T MISS YOUR TRIAL FOR THE WORLD! SO WE’LL SEE YOU THEN AT LEAST.”

”Oh,” you say. “Great!”

God damn it this is going to be embarrassing.

”YEAH,” One-eye Perry says, bobbing his giant head in a nod. “YOU’RE, LIKE, SOOO LUCKY! AT LEAST YOU GET TO SKIP THIS WASHED UP TOWN. YOU’LL GET TO SEE THE WORLD!”

”Yeah, I guess,” you say, trying to keep positive. “It’ll be pretty cool. I’ll miss you guys though, you know? It’ll be lonely out there. I hope you guys don’t have too much fun without me.”

”WE WILL PROBABLY BE HAVING THE SAME AMOUNT OF FUN WITHOUT YOU TO BE HONEST! SO ANY TIME YOU ARE FEELING LONELY JUST REMEMBER THE TIMES WE SPENT TOGETHER AND THAT WILL NOT REALLY BE DIFFERENT IN A MEANINGFUL WAY FROM IF YOU WERE ACTUALLY HERE WITH US.”

”That’s really good advice, One-eye Perry. I’m glad I talked to you guys.”

”YEAH,” One-eye Perry says apparently not picking up on the sarcasm at all, and Pot Monkey strokes his chin and nods in agreement apparently not listening to anything that’s going on at all.

”Now I’m all warm and fuzzy.”

 

[ErazonPo3]

You continue on your way to the shrine, hoping one day you could be as cool as Pot Monkey.

 

[Meridian]

> Esher: Ask Perry if he could do you a favor and give the shrine a pressure-washing with a water gun to help jumpstart cleaning it up
> Esher: Offer to meet them at the waterfall in like an hour or so to smoke weed one last time together, surely being high will not impact your trial

 

[kyeugh]

> Esher: Ask Perry if he could do you a favor and give the shrine a pressure-washing with a water gun to help jumpstart cleaning it up
> Esher: Offer to meet them at the waterfall in like an hour or so to smoke weed one last time together, surely being high will not impact your trial

"Anyway, Perry, would you mind helping me out with something?" you ask.

"THAT SOUNDS LIKE A LOT OF WORK!" he shouts back.

"I haven't even—okay. I'm just wondering if you could tag along with me to the Forest Shrine. I've been neglecting it for a while, and I might be leaving for good soon so it just feels right to—"

"NO THANKS!"

"Okay. What about you, Pot Monkey? Wanna come hang out? You don't have to clean or anything, you could just come vibe if you wanted."

Pot Monkey gives you a vacant crimson stare for about five seconds, then shakes his head.

"Alright. Thanks for all the support, guys."

You turn to leave, but Pot Monkey sits up and starts digging through his satchel. You stop to see what he's doing.

He offers you a fat joint. It's even twisted nicely on the end, in the way only pokémon with thumbs can do.

"Wow, thanks, Pot Monkey!" you exclaim. It's gonna be a little tricky to light this—you're no fire type—but you don't know when the next time you'll get access to something like this is. You take the joint and add it to your inventory.

• Trusty leek
• Fat joint

You continue on your way to the shrine, hoping one day you could be as cool as Pot Monkey.

With that, you tearfully exchange goodbyes with your "friends" and head on your way to the shrine.

It's not far—on the edge of town, just within limits. But it's not exactly prime real estate, and a lot of this part of town is undeveloped, so it still feels like a bit of a hike getting there.

Boy the shrine really is looking rough. When dad was around, this place looked like a zen garden, but these days it looks more like an abandoned woodland ruin. Cobwebs rim the eaves, weeds have desecrated the leek garden and your father's grave, and it looks like a wild pidgey has made its home in the crevice of the temple's arched roof. Yikes. No wonder the Goddess didn't come rushing to your aid yesterday.

Welp. Gotta start somewhere. You could get right into cleaning, or you could have a chat with your old man first—doesn't matter much.

 

[Bluwiikoon]

Man, this is gonna be some hard work. I think we have a chat with our old man first while we catch our breath, before getting deep into the weeds.
If we have inventory space, we could probably take an extra leek or two while cleaning up.

 

[tomatorade]

Great idea. How many leeks can you carry? You need as many as possible where you're going.

 

[Meridian]

> Esther: Chat up the pidgey(?) making their home at the top of the shrine, is it a decent place to live?
> Esther: Ask the (wild?) pidget(?) is they can give you some privacy when you talk to your Dad, that might be awkward otherwise.

>Esther: Cobwebs first, then checking out the (wild?) leeks

 

[kyeugh]

If we have inventory space, we could probably take an extra leek or two while cleaning up.

Great idea. How many leeks can you carry? You need as many as possible where you're going.

then checking out the (wild?) leeks

Why the hell would you take the leeks? You already have a perfectly good leek of your own. Fetch'd don't dual wield!

Esther: Chat up the pidgey(?) making their home at the top of the shrine, is it a decent place to live?

First thing's first: that pidgey has gotta go. The shrine of the Forest Goddess is no resting place for a bird. Well, except for that it's your father's final resting place, and he was himself a bird—whatever. You get it.

You try to shoo it at first, but it doesn't seem to care. That does make sense. Its nest is there. "Hey!" you shout out at it. "Look, I'm sorry, but you can't live here. This is a sacred place. Is there something you like about being up there? Maybe I could make you a similar shelter somewhere else to build your nest. How does that sound?"

"OOOOOOOOOOOGH," the bird scream-coos back at you, its eyes bulging.

"I'm sorry, I don't make the rules. Now get! Shoo!"

"OOOOOOOOOOOOGH!!!!!" the bird screams again.

This isn't going anywhere fast. Esher-pidgey relations are rapidly breaking down.

> Esther: Ask the (wild?) pidget(?) is they can give you some privacy when you talk to your Dad, that might be awkward otherwise.

"Alright, well... Can you at least go somewhere else for a little bit? I'm trying to pick the place up a little. I'd appreciate some privacy. Hey, you should be thanking me! I'm pretty much cleaning up your house for free!"

"OOOOOOOGH!" the pidgey hollers, staying soundly put.

It occurs to you that wild animals do not understand speech.

>Esther: Cobwebs first

Alright, let's move onto something you can do. A spider has made its home in the corner of the shrine, and it's not the best look. With a huff, you leap up and swing your leek wildly at the web. It sways around, but doesn't appear substantially disturbed. You try again, and again. Winded, you bend over to catch your breath and inspect your leek. There's for sure some silk on there, and you're pretty sure the cobweb is looking a little worse than it did before. Improvement!

I think we have a chat with our old man first while we catch our breath, before getting deep into the weeds.

You're gonna need a break after all that hopping around. Gait a little uneven, you waddle over to your dad's grave and plop down beneath it. As according to Fetch'd tradition, your father was buried with the leek he'd wielded in life. It was no small vegetable in its heyday, but it's become truly gigantic in the years since your father passed away. The old man's body must have been nutritious as fuck. That makes sense, you guess. It was being fed the finest by its loving wife, a world-class chef. Ok let's stop calling Dad "it" now.

"Hey, Dad," you say between pants. "Sorry it's been a while. Just been caught up in, uh..." You don't really want to say 'jail' even though it's true. Why are you afraid of your dead Dad's judgment? The Goddess only knows. "Stuff. Um, I might be going away for a while. Like, maybe forever? So this might be the last time I visit."

A breeze rustles the tremendous leaves of your father's grave, and it's hard not to feel like it was a sigh from the beyond.

"I know, I know. I got the whole nine yards from Mom. Believe me, there's nothing you can say that will make me feel worse than the look in her eyes did. But it's a little too late for lesson-learning now." You shrug. "Maybe it'll be good for me though, you know? I'm just so bored and unfulfilled here. So throwing me out might just be best for everyone, I guess. I'll miss you, though, and I'll miss Mom. And it makes me feel guilty that I left this place in such bad repair. Now I'm going to be gone, and no one will be here to pick it up anymore, and one day it's just gonna collapse in on itself and... and it'll be like it was never here at all."

Like it was never here at all, you say, but you mean something else. There are two things your father left behind in this world: you, and this place. Well, now you're on your way. And the shrine probably is too.

You notice you've pulled your knees close to your chest. It's not cold out, but you're trembling. It is just so fucking miserable to say it all out loud, isn't it? But you're glad there's someone here to listen, someone who loves you.

There's a rustle and snap in the brush. Too big, too loud to be a little critter. It's something sizable—a big wild pokémon, perhaps, or maybe another person. Your muscles tense up, and you feel a pulse of your heart strong enough that it makes your vision brighten.

Friend? Foe? Fight? Flight? Or freeze?

 

[windskull]

>Hope you don't look delicious.

>Take up a defensive position.

 

[Meridian]

> Consider why you dont dual-wield.. already a delinquent laying popcorn'd siege to the countryside, what's wrong with a second leek?

> Call out to ask if they're hear to help clean up the shrine or just watch a sad young woman mourn

 

[kyeugh]

Spoiler: OOC note

sorry for the immense delay on this update. i had some health issues that complicated drawing, but i seem to be back to normal and would like to return to routine posting. i'm currently experimenting with some new pens, so please excuse some temporary roughness with the art as i get to grips with it.

>Hope you don't look delicious.

>Take up a defensive position.

You jut your leek out and raise a fist threateningly. As threatening as one little duck can be, anyway. You might not look like much, but your trusty leek can pack a wallop and has defended you against rogue wilds on more than one occasion. If your restaurateur mother taught you anything, it's that there's no such thing as free dinner.

After what feels like months, the grass finally parts to reveal a familiar figure, and your anxious scowl gives way to a broad-beaked smile.

"Good stance, my pupil. Plant your feet a little more."

"Master Tibius!" you exclaim. The grouchy old marowak doesn't return your smile, but his heavy tail lifts a little and slams heavily back to the ground, raising a plume of dust—a gesture you've come to recognize as expressing satisfaction or pleasure.

"I thought I might find you here, little chick," he says in that gravely old voice, like stone on stone. "You have left this place in a disgraceful state. I have slain many beasts and worthy foes in my day, and nearly met my end to the grass."

You bow your head in shame. "Yeah... Sorry, master. Guess the time got away from me."

"Yes. Very busy, you have been, with your popcorn. It darkens the old master's heart."

You let out a heavy sigh and slump back against your late dad's leek, crossing your arms. "Look. I've heard it enough today. If you've just come here to look down your snout at me, then... then... I'll see you at the trial, okay?" Master Tibius is an old goat now, but you still don't have the courage to tell him to leave you alone, even though it's what you'd really like.

The marowak trudges onward as if he hadn't heard you, knocking pebbles out of the way with his heavy-bottom bone cane. With some effort, he falls to his haunches beside you, sitting crisscross with his bone straight across his knees. You notice you've rested your leek against your own legs in the same manner. Did you pick that up from him?

After a few meditative breaths, he turns to face you.

"I shall tell you a story from my youth."

You resist the urge to gasp. You don't know anything about the Master's past—he's tight lipped as, well... a dead man.

"Have you ever wondered to yourself how a mon like myself came to live in a land like this, far from the Bonelands? The truth is, when I was but a bone-swinging scamp, I developed affections for the woman of the clan leader's son. Brash and brazen in my youth, I challenged him to a duel. Many laughed at my foolhardiness, but this fight I won. The wise warrior would have accepted this victory with grace. But angered by the treatment and disregard I had received from the others, I gloated and beat my fallen foe until his skull-helm was splintered and cracked. For this I was exiled from the Bonelands."

This time, you can't hold your tongue: "What!?"

It was hard to even conceive. You've never even imagined the old master doing something that couldn't be described as "proper" in the strictest possible terms.

He doesn't wait for you to pick your beak up off the ground before he continues.

"Now a question for you, little chick: why do you think the gods gave to us youth?"

"Uh..." You scratch the back of your head. "This feels like a trick question."

"When you are young," Master Tibius continues, "you heal much faster and can take many hits, yet you strike weakly. When you are old, you strike with power, but you are feeble and slow to recover. It is known. The makers created us just so, with a purpose. As the elders teach, so the hatchlings learn. This is your time to learn, and learn you shall. There is no shame in it; every tree bends as it grows. I know you will grow toward the light, little chick."

You don't know what to say. Against your better judgment, you lean into your old teacher and bury your face in his shoulder, tears streaming. To your great surprise, he wraps you in his firm arms, leathery hands patting your shoulders, and you sit like that for a time until the temptest is gone from your heart and you feel tranquility in its place.

"Thank you, Master."

The old marowak withdraws and pulls himself to his feet with a wheeze.

"There is little time before your trial. If you have any last wishes in this town, you had best pursue them. Otherwise, it will not hurt for you to show up early. Good bye, little one."